Only Angels Have Wings
by Ryuuen Chou
Summary: It's only a matter of time until peace breaks. And then it's only a matter of time until someone does. (slightly AU post-series, DEATHFIC, shounen-ai 1x2, 3x4)


Only Angels Have Wings by Ryuuen  
  
Warnings: Shounen-ai, dark/mature themes, character death.  
  
A/N: This fic was written after reading an extremely depressing other GW ficlet, so bear with me. This is set to the song "Amen" by Jewel. Please enjoy, and read and review if you can. C&Cs are welcome.  
  
**ONLYxANGELSxHAVExWINGS  
  
**_You're mothers' child, but night lays you down, hair aflame, wild look in your eyes, naked belly to the ground. A forest fire nibbles at your veins, crawls up your arm, runs away with your mind, and burns dry thoughts like leaves. Amen._  
  
Every hard battle seemed to come down to this. This kind of end, which they had all imagined would eventually come. After the White Fang, after everything... it had only been two years since then, and already the fight was coming back. Already, they had to fight again. And then this had come, as they knew it inevitably would, someday, though they knew not when. That one battle when, in just a moment, a flash of time after which everything seemed endless, when they knew that one of them would not be returning, when they knew that for one of them, it had ended.  
  
And he threw himself into his arms, crying, the tears streaking his face, as soon as they returned, small pale hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, whimpering words of sorrow. He put his arms around him, whispering reassurances despite the alien feel of it. Told him they would get them back for this, that it would be alright, but the crying didn't stop.  
  
He stood watching, though not consciously trying to, the tracks of tears on his own face despite his will to make them disappear. How weak it made him look, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that. Finally he turned away, consoling himself with thoughts of revenge, letting the flames he was feeling inside burn away the tears, so that he could at least wait until he was alone to cry more. Wait until no one could see the break in his stony facade.  
  
Oh, but he had known it was a facade. Had discovered it, totally on his own. Had broken into it, and made him say those words, and then he had left. It wasn't fair, he wanted to cry. It wasn't fair that he had found that, only to have it taken from him like that! It wasn't right. And they would pay.  
  
And the small one continued to cry in his arms, and the watcher dried his tears with the ideas of vengaence, and they all knew that nothing was all right anymore.  
  
_Eyes stare up, but something's in the way. In the Bible, only angels have wings, and the rest must wait to be saved. A dry tongue screams at the sky, but the wind just breathes words in as a strange bird tries to fly. Amen._  
  
They sat in perfect silence, across the room from each other like it mattered that it might be embarrassing if he were to throw himself into his arms again. Like anything but the pain and the grief and the tears they cried inside their hearts mattered right now. Quatre dried his eyes with his sleeve, though the tracks the tears from before had left were still there, and he didn't mind them. He only dried his eyes for the semblance of the composure he knew he didn't have, and knew that the other boy in the room knew he didn't have. But appearances were important. Illusions, even moreso. If he couldn't rely on illusions, then there wouldn't be anything left, and he would have to succumb to the awful sorrow he felt inside, there like a weight on his heart. He felt fresh tears sting at his eyes and gave up, knowing the resisting them was an effort that would be in vain no matter what.  
  
He wondered how they were supposed to go on, now. How could there be faith? How could there be hope? If the gods.. God.. whoever.. hadn't been there to save him, what hope was there that any of them wouldn't recieve the same treatment? Why were the only ones who were saved the ones who needed it or deserved it the least? How gladly and without thought he would have traded his life for his. But he had been too far away, barely able to shout a warning that came too late. He hadn't been paying enough attention. Hadn't been there to help..  
  
He cried out weakly in grief, felt his companion put his arms around him again. He wondered vaguely when Trowa had crossed the room, that he hadn't noticed. He once again consented to being held, sobbed weakly for what felt like the thousandth time. He couldn't get past this. How could he?  
  
He had failed him. He had failed them all. And he had failed himself. Because hadn't he sworn to himself that he would trade his life for theirs, any of theirs, at any time? And he hadn't been able to.  
  
_Pieces of us die every day, as though our flesh were Hell. Such injustice; as children we are told that from God we fell. Where are my angels? Where's my golden one? Where's my hope now that my heroes have gone? Some are being beaten, some are being born, and some can't tell the difference anymore. Amen.  
_  
When the war was over, they were touted as heroes. They had delivered peace back onto the grateful world. But none of them felt happy about it. None of them smiled for the cameras; not even Quatre, known for his ability to put sorrow behind the barriers of an insincere smile, could bring himself to show any happiness. Because even now he was holding back tears, knowing that their comrade would never be buried, would never be properly grieved for by any but the four of them. But perhaps.. perhaps that would be enough.  
  
Because heroes are so rarely recognized. Because those who are recognized so rarely deserve it. Because those who deserve it have so often lost so much.  
  
He looked over, saw Heero looking away from the crowds, away from them, knew that he was crying, too. Because he had lost the only person to ever break into, melt, his cold heart, and that pain was much too real, those wounds much too fresh. He reached out to put a hand on the perfect soldier's shoulder, felt the immediate tensing, the immediate shock, and then, the relaxation when he realized who it was. And he let Heero turn around, let him cry onto his shirt as he held him, and Trowa came over to offer his support as well. And not one of them cared that it was on live television.  
  
Let them see, thought Quatre. Let them see that this is what a hero is. Let them see how much it hurts. And let them pray that they never feel it.  
  
And he started crying, as well.  
  
_Hallelujah._  
  
It wasn't for a very long time that they could speak his name without someone crying. It was longer still before they began to really heal. They mourned for as long as they all needed. They were their own support group. Even Wufei, who until now had seemed so out of the group, had finally given up hiding and cried, just once, just a few tears, had finally admitted that he missed him, too.  
  
They took their comfort with each other. Quatre in Trowa's arms, Heero in Quatre's. Quatre would hold him until his tears stopped, sometimes even until sleep claimed him. His gentle words helped him heal the wounds so deep inside him. He finally could admit to himself that he was gone, could finally begin to live again, a much more human figure than he had been.  
  
Quatre's bitter thoughts on the day they had returned to Earth had faded, though the sentiment remained. The people that day had seen the heart of them. The heart of those who had been called heroes. And he hoped that they never knew that kind of pain.  
  
Because they had found their own heroes. They were all heroes in each other's eyes. And that was all that mattered.  
  
They held a memorial service, since they had been unable to recover the body. Everyone was solemn, wearing black, tears in their eyes as they laid to rest the spirit of one of their closest friends. But they knew that they could live on, in his memory. He would not have wanted them to be sad.  
  
As Quatre said the words, "Duo Maxwell... rest in peace," Heero swore he saw his face among the group of mourners, winking at him.  
  
And that was when he knew that he would never be alone.  
  
He would always have his angel.  
  
_Hallelujah._  
  
**=owari= **


End file.
